Out of my current comfort zone
Let's get the shit out of the way on a Monday and then I can go back to escapism blogging tomorrow! Hurray!
I haven't blogged about Dad in a while because, well in all honestly I'm sick of the situation going round in circles in my crowded little head and I find it difficult to see the facts in actual words, but people are asking how things are and I really should make a note for myself, for the future, however painful it is, so I'll take a deep breath and get it over with.
Hmmm, third try to put into words how things are, ok, this could be a rambling mess, but I really don't want to think about it anymore, so I'm just going to spew.
The carcinoid excretes a hormone that imbalances the chemicals in the brain. It can have a similar effect to the behaviour of someone with mild autism or the early stages of dementia. Dad is very distant, he is angry, argumentative, often baiting people for arguments. He has lost his ability to be tactful or sensitive and his sense of humour has alluded him.
He used to be known for his severe sarcasm, but now, even the simplest of jokes puzzle him as if he's just heard a foreign language. He isn't interested in much conversation or contact with his family, preferring to spend hours obsessing over little projects he has started. He isn't in any pain or discomfort, but he does sleep up to 17 hours a day, is a walking skeleton and has large purple patches that now mask his once handsome face.
We know why Dad is this way, we know it's not his fault, it's not any ones fault. It's very hard to explain, but Dad just isn't 'there' much anymore, it isn't depression or a coping mechanism or even a way of trying to make things easier for us. He can still finish a crossword faster than any man I know, but when your father stands in the middle of a room absolutely transfixed at the wall for 20 seconds, with his mouth agape and his eyes glazed over, it's pretty obvious that a combination of the carcinoid and the drugs are affecting some parts of his brain.
He shouted at me today. I asked him how he was doing and he just exploded, he said some things that, although I know he didn't mean, made my heart tear a little. It doesn't matter how often I tell myself that this isn't really my Dad, that the hurtful things he says are a result of the bastard cancer destroying his body, it still hurts to hear them.
These words and the fierce angry facial expressions will always stay with me. It's been five months and often I panic because I can't remember how he was before this all started. Will this be my memory of him? Will these times forever haunt my thoughts?
Three weeks ago we were told he had a 'few' weeks to live. I've quickly learnt that there is no such thing as an accurate prediction. I know when the time does come he will deteriorate very quickly and as before, probably develop pneumonia and it will probably come out of nowhere.
Fake smiling and waiting, watching him dying, fake smiling and waiting, watching in dread.
My mum, I worry so much about my mum, but that's another post and another day.
One thing I've learnt from this experience is this, when talking to people in the same situation as I am right now, I will NEVER say, "at least you had some time with him instead of him dying suddenly", because that statement, although I used to say it myself, has absolutely no founding at all under these circumstances. This isn't "time", there are no pleasant memories made here, this is limbo, this is torture and he doesn't deserve it, none of us do.
